


Best Possible Match

by tuesday



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: In which everything takes place in an a/b/o 'verse and Tony accidentally buys a bonding contract with Peter.--"But," Peter properly, cautiously stepped into the room and away from the door, "Aunt May doesn't know that I'm Spider-Man—not that I am Spider-Man! But if I were she absolutely, definitely would not know."Mr. Stark's face went blank. "Oh. That puts an entirely different and rather horrifying spin on the conversation we just had.""Did you just out me to my aunt?" Peter asked, voice small."No, I think that would've been the better outcome here. You've lost all those maturity points I awarded you." Mr. Stark was in Peter's living room, sitting on his couch and looking concussed. "I think I just bought your hand in marriage. Which I guess would be outing of a different kind."





	Best Possible Match

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a rush to get this posted this morning, but some things to be aware of: I wrote most of this in December/January, before I'd figured out timelines on things. We're just going to say that the CW timeline and Homecoming etc are also all rather AU. This is by its very premise AU (a/b/o, marriage and bonding contracts, etc), but other than the timeline issues, it does fall in close with the movies I have seen, which is everything through IW. As Endgame doesn't come out in my area until this evening and wasn't available when most of this was written, it is very much not Endgame compliant.
> 
> I'm being cautious with the M rating, but maybe this could be Teen and Up. Usually I give myself a couple hours to dither over anything I feel like could be on the line, but I want to get this posted before I see Endgame.
> 
> Thank you so much to strozzzi, who suffered through my posting snippets in DMs and then getting distracted by literally every other P/T fic I've posted since. Thanks to everyone else I've ever talked about this with, also, but I am in a rush (sorry!) and don't have time to check my DMs to make sure who I actually talked this one over with. Thanks always to the ironspider discord peeps.
> 
> What I hope will be a full list of content advisories is in the end notes. If you have any questions or special concerns, as ever, feel free to ask.
> 
> Fffffffff, checking on this later to see it cut out an entire part because I borked a tag. Sorry, everyone who already read it. /o\

"I'm here about the internship. I worked out all the details with your aunt while we were waiting for you."

"No, you're not," Aunt May said. "But we did work out the bare minimum of the details.

"No, I'm not," Mr. Stark agreed. He looked between Peter and May, speculative. "Your aunt knows? I've gotta admit, I am impressed with your responsibility and maturity here. I was a little worried when I found out you were still in high school, but this is honestly pretty encouraging."

The problem here was _Peter_ didn't know what this was about, what the safe answer was to give. That was Tony Stark. His knees wanted to give out from under him. He'd had dreams that started like this, except Aunt May wasn't there, and Mr. Stark had been wearing the Iron Man armor instead of something tailored that looked like it cost more than their apartment.

"I don't approve," said Aunt May and she looked sad. "But if it had to be someone—" She shook her head. "Peter is my nephew, but in every way that counts, he's my son. I raised that boy. Take care of him."

Tony Stark was in his living room, eating his aunt's baking, and looking nonplussed. "I, uh. I'll try my best."

"Don't _try_." Aunt May's voice was quiet, but firm. She glared Mr. Stark down.

He relented first. "You're right. Bad idea. I'll just—" He waved a hand at the door.

"Wait." The command came in stereo, Peter desperately curious and May—tired. Resigned.

Aunt May stood up. "I'll let you talk. I won't interfere—unless you need me to." May squeezed Peter's shoulders. She stepped past him and into the hall. Before she closed the door behind her, she told Peter, voice intense, "I'll be just down the hall."

"So." Tony discarded the date loaf he'd been nibbling on and clapped his hands together. "Your aunt. Formidable woman. I felt like any moment she was going to grill me over my intentions, like I was here to ask for a bonding contract instead of to talk to you about your superhero activities."

"What superhero activities?" Peter squeaked.

"Oh, come on, we just did this. You saw your aunt threaten me if I let anything happen to you, so now I have even more of a vested interest in making sure nothing happens to you while you're out there being a spiderling, doing spider things."

"But," Peter properly, cautiously stepped into the room and away from the door, "Aunt May doesn't know that I'm Spider-Man—not that I am Spider-Man! But if I were she absolutely, definitely would not know."

Mr. Stark's face went blank. "Oh. That puts an entirely different and rather horrifying spin on the conversation we just had."

"Did you just out me to my aunt?" Peter asked, voice small.

"No, I think that would've been the better outcome here. You've lost all those maturity points I awarded you." Mr. Stark was in Peter's living room, sitting on his couch and looking concussed. "I think I just bought your hand in marriage. Which I guess would be outing of a different kind." Peter was sure he looked a bit like he'd been concussed, too. He certainly felt like it, like he'd suffered a sudden and unexpected blow his spider sense had somehow missed entirely. "That explains why she wanted to talk about my break-up with Pepper. I thought she just wanted reassurances I could take care of someone without someone else taking care of _me_."

"You and Ms. Potts broke up?"

Mr. Stark's eyes cleared a bit. He seemed to actually see Peter when he was looking at him—and he was looking, scanning Peter head to toe. "Oh, no, you're a groupie. I mean—of course you're a groupie. I'm great. What's not to love? But that's going to make this awkward—more awkward than it already is. Unless you're a Pepper groupie. Also understandable. She's great, too. Really, she deserves more recognition." Tony paused, assessing him. He sighed. "You're not a Pepper groupie, are you?"

"I'm not a groupie," Peter said uncertainly.

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"A statement?"

"Look." Mr. Stark stood up. He held out a hand. "Let's start over. I'm Tony Stark, genius inventor who sometimes climbs into a beautifully crafted tin can to fight crime. Call me Tony. I'm here to talk to you about a Stark internship, and by Stark internship, I mean gallivanting about in something sturdier than your red and blue onesie and with some actual back-up for once. What do you say?"

"I'm not Spider-Man," Peter tried.

Mr. Stark—Tony—withdrew the hand, and Peter castigated himself for missing the opportunity. "That ship has sailed, kid. The cat's out of the bag." He pulled out a phone, moved his fingers over it, and somehow projected a hologram which included a greatest hits of Peter at his least conspicuous. "Don't look so scared. It's all been scrubbed from the internet. No one else is going to find out, and your secret identity is safe with me." Shutting it down, he pressed his lips thin. "Though not, it appears, with your aunt."

"You can't tell her," Peter said hurriedly.

Tony rubbed a hand down his face. "I won't. But you really ought to. Before she finds out some other way. Trust me, secrets have a way of coming out."

"I'm not, I'm not ready, and she's already got so much on her plate, and I couldn't possibly add—"

Tony held up his hands. "Alright, kid. I already said I wouldn't. Despite my better judgment, I'll leave that up to you."

"I. _Thank you_." Peter clutched his backpack straps for lack of anything better to do. "Really. Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. I tracked you down because I had a favor to ask you."

"Anything."

Tony looked pained. "Don't agree before you know what it is. I could be asking you to sign away your soul here."

"You wouldn't," Peter said confidently, back on somewhat solid ground again.

"Definitely a groupie," Tony said in an undertone that might have passed as incoherent grumbling if his audience hadn't had enhanced hearing. Peter's ears went warm at the tips. "Right. First thing's first. Do you have a passport?"

—

Eventually, Aunt May came back. She pulled on her glasses, and she and Tony talked more in the living room, hunched over a sheaf of paper, while Peter finally went to his room to put his books away—and to pack. Peter didn't have a passport, but apparently there were ways around that.

"They're even legal," Tony had said, and though Peter didn't know him very well at all, the cheer in his voice had sounded false.

—

Peter got brought along on a quick trip to Germany where he was possibly going to meet Captain America. So that he could restrain him with his specially engineered spider silk, but still, Captain America. On the trip over, he got to sit in a private jet—a quinjet, which could go speeds Peter had never expected to reach more than a tiny fraction of in his life—and shoot the breeze with Tony Stark.

If not for the fact that shooting the breeze was more like light interrogation, it might have been perfect. Once Tony had gotten everything out of Peter about his webbing, his abilities, and his skills in a fight, plus his reasons for doing this, he moved on to something a bit more awkward.

"And I suppose this would be a good time to address the elephant in the room," Tony took off his sunglasses to rub at his eyes, "since it seems like I put in a pretty substantial private bid for a bonding contract."

"How, uh, how did you get Aunt May to agree to that anyway?" Peter asked.

Tony smiled, wry, with a twist to his lips like loathing directed inward. "Oh, that was easy. _My_ cover was an internship, which I said you'd applied for. Had all the paperwork and everything. That I was surprised you weren't a _college_ sophomore was, I suppose, a point in my favor. Not a big one, but a point nonetheless."

"But she didn't think it was an internship."

"Yes, well," Tony waved a hand. "I didn't have a lot of time to put it together. It was kind of short on details, suitably vague to cover a variety of situations. I didn't actually expect to need the signature of anyone's guardian."

"Aunt May thought you were on the market and I put myself out there in hopes that you'd choose me," Peter said, voice gone distant with horror.

Tony gave a short, sharp laugh. "Your Aunt May thinks I _did_ choose you. Must have been one hell of an imaginary application, huh?"

"I have a crush on a girl at school," Peter blurted out.

Tony's expression went odd. It was at least one part—relief? "I'm certainly not going to stop you. The contract's more of an option than an outright buyout. I promise, you've got no restrictions on you."

Tony went back to his tablet, and Peter thought that was it, awkward conversation over. Tony said, voice brighter than before, "Tell me about this girl. What's she like?"

It should have been awkward, telling Tony about her, but Liz was _so great_ , and Tony relaxed a little more with every new Liz fact. "—so not only is she the captain of our Decathlon team, she's also in charge of Homecoming!"

Peter took a breath, and Tony eyes crinkled as he smiled and said with gentle teasing, "So what you're telling me here is that you're really a _Liz_ groupie."

"I'm not a groupie," Peter said, confidently this time. "I just think she's the smartest, coolest, and prettiest person I've ever met."

Tony laughed, but it didn't feel like it was at Peter. "Keep that enthusiasm. It's a good look, and I promise, even if this girl doesn't appreciate it, someone will."

He tapped at the tablet a few more times, distracted. Peter had a clear view of the way the amused expression drifted away to be replaced by something sadder, grimmer. The bruise on his face stood out. It made him look realer, more human, than the facade he'd always presented on TV. At once, it was intimate and heartbreaking to see damage on his favorite hero's face. It was a reminder that outside his suit, Tony Stark was just as fragile and breakable as any other human being. Peter wasn't sure he liked it.

"So, uh, what exactly are we doing when we get to Germany? Should we—do we have time to practice fighting as a group before the mission?"

"You," Tony pointed at him, "are going to stay hidden while I, I hope, talk some damn sense into certain people. If I get Cap to budge, the rest should fall in line. With any luck, there won't be any fighting at all."

Tony didn't sound like he believed that they would be that lucky. Peter didn't call him out on it or press further. That image of vulnerability had gone, but the determined expression that followed seemed brittle, easily broken. Peter didn't want to put any more cracks in it. He wanted to replace it with something better.

"So, uh, is there anything else you'd like to know about me?" Peter asked, though Tony had gotten pretty much everything there was to know about Spider-Man.

"Yeah." Tony turned his tablet so Peter could see a mockup of a bonding application with all of Peter's information filled in. "What would you like included in your personal essay?"

Mischievous was better, but Peter, at the reminder of what May thought was going on, wanted to sink right through the plane's floor and fall until he hit the Atlantic.

—

Peter stayed the night with (or rather, beside) Happy Hogan, who looked deeply suspicious of everything Peter Parker and kind of displeased with life in general. In fact, he had stared at the sky for a good minute after Tony left ("Lots to do, very little time to do it with! Be good for Hap, won't you?") and plaintively demanded of it, "What is he _thinking_?"

"Is there anything I can help with?" Peter had asked hesitantly.

"Don't tell him I said that." Happy had given him the side-eye, but ushered him into the car and around Berlin for the afternoon. Tony presumably had … meetings? Or something?

In the morning, Happy also directed him to a _second area_ of his hotel room, where a _brand new_ Spider-suit designed by _Tony Stark_ waited for him. The gloves—all of it, really, once he hit the button on the front emblem—fit perfectly. In retrospect, this made Tony's cursory physical examination of Peter's hands make a whole lot more sense than some brief, failed attempt at hand-holding.

—

The fight went really well until it didn't. Tony put a hand on Peter's chest when he tried to sit back up. "Stay down."

Peter stayed down. He heard Tony mutter, "She really is going to kill me," as he retreated back into the fray of battle.

—

Apparently, some of the people they were here to stop got arrested, and some got away. Peter didn't know much more, because between the arrests on that side and the injuries on their side, Tony didn't have the time to explain any further, and no one else seemed to care that he was there. Tony made him submit to the medical personnel for a quick check-up, even though Peter had told him that he had a healing factor.

"Please," Tony said, and he'd looked exhausted and like his heart was breaking. His eyes were bloodshot like he'd been crying or trying really hard not to. "Don't argue. Just do it."

So Peter had done it, and when they let him go, Happy was there to take him back to the hotel. Tony met them at the jet—"So glad I built more than one of these," Tony said as they got on board—but the ride back was a lot quieter. Tony didn't cheer up until they were in the car on the way back from the airport, filming an "alibi" message for May.

"You can cut that one," Tony said after cracking up in the middle of a joke about Peter's aunt being ridiculously attractive that he'd heard a thousand times growing up. "I honestly think she might kill me if she thought I was flirting."

"Maybe I should keep it."

"Blackmail, now? How quickly they turn—" They briefly tussled over the phone. Tony won, but only because Peter froze up when Tony put his hands up Peter's shirt to tickle him. "There. Deleted. I am safe for another day."

Dazed, Peter sat through another video recording. When Tony reached across him to let him out, Peter honestly thought he was going for a hug, but Tony told him, "We're not there yet."

 _Yet_.

Tony was safe for another day, but Peter—Peter suddenly felt like he was in a whole lot of trouble.

—

Tony had said they would call him. Peter didn't expect "they" to be one of Tony's assistants and for it to happen less than 48 hours later—and not in his capacity as Spider-Man.

"Is this Peter Parker?" came the cool, professional tones of someone about to deliver bad news.

"Yeah? Uh, yes. That's me." Peter had gotten out of school, but hadn't suited up yet. His hands had gone cold.

"I'm calling because you're listed in Mr. Stark's records as a medical contact."

Relief that it wasn't his aunt hit him at the same time as the horror that it had happened to someone else, someone he knew, if not well, and had spent over half his life admiring. Peter sat down on the sidewalk, back to the brick of the building.

"Wh—um, what, what are you—?" Then, because no matter how surprised he was or how curious, it wasn't right that he got any of this information on a technicality, because Tony had been willing to fake a bonding contract just to help Peter hide his secret identity, "Wait, I think there's been mistake. I'm not actually—"

"I know this may be difficult to hear," the woman continued over him like she was reading off a script, "but he's stable. His prognosis is good. After the second surgery—"

"Second?" Peter choked.

She paused. "Someone should have called you sooner, but we're rectifying that now. We can send a car to pick you up. Where are you now?"

Peter had some objections, like school, like Aunt May, like Tony probably wouldn't want him there if he were conscious to make the decision himself. The assistant bulldozed ahead and bullied Peter's coordinates out of him, right down to the street address of the building acting as his backrest. Maybe Peter should have been more suspicious, should have been worried about a kidnapping, but the contract was fake and less than three days old, for all it had apparently warranted panicked scrambling among Tony's underlings not in the know. And no one knew Peter was Spider-Man besides Tony himself, plus whoever he personally authorized to know. There was no reason for anyone to kidnap him, Peter thought.

It was probably a good thing that the dark sedan that picked him up actually, legitimately belonged to Tony's company and the person driving it was a loyal employee. Not Happy—if it had been Happy, maybe he'd have driven Peter home—but someone serious and almost aggressively uninterested in knowing who Peter was or why he was driving him to the closest private airfield.

"Can you tell me anything?" Peter asked finally.

"Yeah. Your flight leaves when you're on it."

Peter felt even more miserable and guilty when he realized someone was already there, waiting. It definitely didn't help that it was Happy.

Happy really didn't look happy. He asked, "Are you kidding me with this?"

"I tried to tell them that I'm not, that I didn't—" Peter trailed off. "Should I get off the plane?"

Happy sighed. "No. Strap in. This isn't a quinjet. It's a long flight."

"I, um. I don't have clothes, besides, uh." Peter made a gesture that he hoped encompassed "the awesome new costume made and designed by the very person whose bedside we're going to be attending." Kind of pathetically, Peter said, " _That_. They picked me up after school."

Happy's face did a weird thing at the words "after school," twitching wildly while barely seeming to move. "Nothing wrong with sleeping in your clothes or re-wearing them a couple times. You'll be fine."

Part of Peter wanted to wear the suit as a set of pajamas—they were certainly comfortable enough—but the rest rejected that as a bad idea. Besides, it was early afternoon. There was plenty of time to figure out something else when they landed wherever they were going.

"So how long is this flight going to be again?"

Happy reclined his seat and put his eye mask down.

—

It turned out that Europe was a lot longer trip in a company jet instead of Tony's own personal plane built for both comfort and speed. It gave Peter and Happy time to briefly bond over at least that one thing.

"I'm watching you," Happy said, complete with hand to eye motions, before flipping the eye mask back down.

"Good talk," Peter said awkwardly.

—

By the time they hit the ground, Tony was awake and, though he probably had a hundred more pressing matters for his attention, thoroughly unamused that Peter had come along. "Who authorized this, this childnapping?"

"That's your future bondmate," came a familiar voice from Tony's tablet. "Should you really be referring to him as a child, boss?"

"For the last time, it's not that kind of contract," Tony told his mysterious, absent assistant. "Did you develop a reading comprehension problem while I was knocked out?"

"Reads pretty clear to me." Tony's assistant was a terrifyingly unapologetic woman. "You're welcome for putting him on the slow route so you could be awake to greet him."

"I raised you wrong," Tony said.

Peter squeaked. Tony had a _daughter_?

Tony looked up at him and Happy standing in the doorway like two errant students waiting to be called in front of the principal. "And you. Why did you go along with this?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter said.

At the same time, Happy said, "Your instructions were very clear."

"Not you, _you_." Tony looked small in the bed, covered in bandages, but his indignation took up the whole room. "And apparently they were not, because you brought a fourteen year old out of the country without his guardian's permission."

"May agreed to it," Tony's … daughter piped up. "Well done, by the way. If she's anything like Peter is going to grow up—"

"Raised you wrong," Tony raised his voice over her.

"I'm glad you're okay, Mr. Stark," Peter said quietly.

Tony looked over and finally met Peter's eyes. He sighed at him. "Yeah, okay, get in here and close the door behind you. You're letting all the air out."

Peter was parked in a corner with his backpack and yesterday's homework that he hadn't been able to bring himself to do on the plane. Tony took care of a lot of actually important things. Eventually, he put his tablet down, but only because it had stopped responding and he was too tired to hack it, but he would be back with a vengeance once he caught his second wind—which he informed the tablet of at length.

"You, um, you can borrow my phone if that helps?" Peter offered. When he got it out, it made a sad dying sound Peter had never heard before as the screen winked out. "Or … not. That's weird. I charged it this morning."

Tony quirked a smile. "Put it away. I think FRIDAY's made her point." Of course Tony's cool, mysterious daughter was some kind of genius hacker who could somehow drain a phone's batteries. "So. What made you decide to come?"

"Someone in a black sedan drove up and told me I should get in if I knew what was good for me."

Tony's face went blank. "And you just did."

"Well. He said he worked for you first."

Tony closed his eyes. "No, no, stop. I didn't need to know it was an actual childnapping." He raised a hand toward his forehead before he winced and lowered it again, more gingerly. "That is asking for an honest to God ransom demand."

"No one even knows who I am."

"And I'll do my best to keep it that way, but this is really not the safety play, pretending to be pre-bonded instead of telling your aunt," Tony's hand twitched like he wanted to wave it expansively as he made his point, "and you're not exactly contributing to the Keep Peter Safe program here by practically climbing into the trunk of some stranger's car."

Abruptly, Peter said, "I'm fifteen."

"What?"

"Earlier, you said that they—that you—" because Peter wasn't going to let Happy or Tony's daughter get in trouble for something Tony had done, too, "brought a fourteen year old out of the country. But I'm fifteen."

"That's really not better."

Just as abruptly, it occurred to Peter that he was kind of … kicking Tony while he was down here. Literally laid out flat in a hospital bed after some major reconstructive surgery following massive blunt force trauma. (Peter may have been doing his homework, but that didn't stop him from listening.) It probably would've been kinder to let Tony forget it. Then again, "It is. A little bit."

" _If_ it's better, it's not good enough. You're still a kid. You never should have left Queens."

Peter lifted his jaw. "I caught Cap's shield." He noticed absently the tiny flinch, quickly caught, at those words. "I was holding my own pretty well."

Tony's jaw clenched. "And then you were laid out on the tarmac." He shook his head. "No one there wanted to hurt you, but you could have been seriously hurt, and that's on me."

"I may be just fifteen," and Peter stood up, made his way for the door where Tony couldn't follow him, "but I made my own decision."

Behind the door, Peter could hear Tony's raised voice call out, "Hey, get back here! We weren't done yet!" Then, "FRIDAY, what are the chances he gets himself kidnapped between my room and the lounge or wherever an angry teenager would go to sulk?"

Cheeks burning, Peter moved down the hall. Tony might know about Peter's enhanced hearing, but that didn't mean he had to acknowledge that Tony had gotten the last word.

Peter went to the bathroom. He washed his face. He took a long, hard look in the mirror and wondered what he was even doing there.

When he returned to the room, Tony was sleeping. He was so lively while he was awake that it was easy to overlook the medical equipment, the bruising, the bandages that peeked out from a hospital gown Tony had worn with all the easy grace of an Armani suit. When he was awake, Tony took up the room. Asleep, he looked smaller. The bruises looked bigger, the lines in his face deeper. Even asleep, his worries followed him.

Peter felt like he was intruding, like this was something private he'd never been meant to see, but he didn't know where else to go. He sat back in the chair by Tony's bedside. He got out his chemistry textbook and he got to work. He had a test on Thursday. Studying was something to do while he waited for Tony to wake up and yell at him some more.

—

Eventually, Tony woke up. He was cleared to travel, even if his doctors weren't enthused and were, in fact, horrified that he was even considering it. Peter waited in the hallway while Happy helped Tony put on sweatpants and a drawstring hoodie. He didn't bother with underwear— _not_ that Peter was looking. Tony drew on sunglasses and a cap while they waited for the wheelchair and for Happy to bring the car to a side door.

"How many people know you're here?" Peter asked, because it was clear Tony was making an attempt to go incognito.

"Besides the hospital staff?" Tony's lips twisted. "Five people, including you. Keep it under your hat, yeah?"

"I wasn't going to tell anyone!" Peter protested. He was good at keeping secrets. He'd kept the Spider-Man thing secret for six whole months before Tony found out.

"You'd better tell May," Tony said. "FRIDAY was vague on details, and I shudder to think what _she_ thinks is going on."

"I won't, I mean, I will, I mean—"

Tony's laugh was quiet, but surprisingly light for someone whose shoulders were set as though there were a vast, unwieldy weight pressing down upon them. It was weirdly good to be able to make Tony Stark laugh like that. Then the wheelchair arrived, and the light went right back out out of him again.

Peter was seated next to Tony for the car ride, where he was groggy and distracted. Tony sat off by himself on the jet, stretching his seat fully back and out like a light. Peter felt creepy watching him sleep and chose a chair facing the other way, only to have Happy make "I'm watching you" gestures at him once more.

They took the faster plane, but it was a long flight home.

—

Peter thought that was going to be the end of it, besides being called up for Avengers business sometimes, but instead he got another phone call the next week.

"Family dinner," said Tony's daughter instead of any actual greeting when Peter picked up. "Every Thursday night at six. No excuses. You quit band practice. You can make it."

"Uh. Is this FRIDAY?"

"Yes, but the dinner's on Thursday. I'll send a car to your apartment." FRIDAY paused, but continued before Peter could get his thoughts together enough to reply. "It'll be the same one as before. Don't get in a random stranger's car. Boss would be really unhappy if you actually got kidnapped."

"Is there a dress code?" Peter asked instead of, "Are you for real?" The last time he'd tried to argue with FRIDAY hadn't worked out for him.

"Clothed," FRIDAY said shortly. She hung up on him.

He'd wanted to believe she was kidding, that Tony's daughter had a really weird sense of humor, but he told May anyway. Her face got tight, but she smiled at him. "Don't stay out too late."

"It's a family dinner," Peter said. "FRIDAY will be there."

"Does that mean I'm invited?" At whatever expression Peter was making in response to that—he tried hard to swallow his horror—she cracked a wider smile. "I'm kidding. Enjoy your dinner. Send him my best wishes for a speedy recovery."

It was the same dark sedan with the same bored driver as before, though he wasn't actually a full-time driver. "I do what FRIDAY tells me to do. In this case, that's drive you to Stark Towers. That's all I can tell you."

At least this time, Peter knew where he was going. He was let off in front of the building. Building security directed him to an elevator that went straight to the top. He didn't press any buttons, but the door closed immediately behind him. It was weird. It was awkward. Peter was wearing his best blazer, which had last seen the light of day during a freshman dance. He fidgeted nervously with the cuffs as the floor count climbed.

When the doors opened, there was no one there to greet him. Peter stepped out, wishing he knew whether FRIDAY was the type of person to play practical jokes on a teenager sort of engaged to her father. She knew it was only on paper, right? The elevator doors closed behind him, trapping him in the … foyer? Living room?

"Hello?" Really, Peter was beginning to feel a bit like he was in the beginning of a horror movie. "Is anyone here?"

"The boss is on his way up." FRIDAY's voice came from nowhere. "Time got away from him."

"Where are you?" Peter asked, unnerved.

"Right here." FRIDAY sounded amused by Peter's inability to keep up.

But Peter was, well, unable to keep up. "Where here?"

He got the sense FRIDAY was laughing at him. "Right now, I'm part of the building."

Peter went out on a limb, but not much of one. "You're an AI?"

"I am."

"That is so cool!" In retrospect, it made a whole lot more sense that Tony's daughter was a computer program he'd coded himself rather than him being able to keep a secret human daughter under wraps for years and years.

"I like to think so," FRIDAY agreed.

Before Peter could ask her any questions—and he had so many questions, though maybe it would've been rude to ask?—the elevator came back up again and Tony came ambling out as he announced, "This is an unacceptable level of bullying behavior."

"I didn't make her tell me!" Peter said.

"Not you, kid. I'm sure you're another victim here." Tony didn't break stride, as he put a hand to Peter's back and pushed him along. "Come on, kitchen's this way. FRIDAY had dinner delivered."

Dinner was Thai still in the boxes from somewhere Peter had never been. It was steaming hot, and Tony handed him flatware and encouraged him to dig in. Raised better than that, Peter refused until Tony got his own so he could eat, too.

"So what would you be doing at this hour if FRIDAY weren't embracing her ability to be an even bigger busybody than her predecessor?" Tony asked. Tony must have been hungry, too. He was practically inhaling his food.

"Probably patrolling," Peter said, then, because he didn't want Tony to think he was ignoring his other responsibilities, "or homework."

"What about dinner with your surprisingly attractive aunt?"

"She has this shift on Wednesdays and Thursdays." Peter chased a noodle with his fork. "We do family dinners, too, but on other nights."

"Peter often skips dinner on Thursdays," FRIDAY volunteered.

"How do you even know that?" Peter asked. _And why would she share it?_

"I know everything," FRIDAY said primly.

"Well, that's unacceptable," said Tony. "You're a growing boy, and with the Spider-thing gig, your caloric requirements are probably ridiculously high. Do you want scurvy? That's how you get scurvy."

"That's not how you get scurvy," Peter said hesitantly.

"Don't argue with me." Tony pointed his fork first at Peter, then at the food spread out on the table. "Eat. Stop starving on my watch. I'm sure even an indirectly caused death would be enough for your aunt to come after me."

Peter applied himself to eating. There was a lot of food, but somehow they were making a significant dent in it.

"Skipping dinner, huh?" Tony looked thoughtful. "Well. I guess you'll just have to keep coming over so I can feed you."

And that was how Peter ended up having a family dinner with Tony and FRIDAY every Thursday night. Tony made him take the leftovers home with him before he left ("And no patrolling, you need at least one night off to recover and not burn out. I'm not kidding.") and FRIDAY thanked him for coming once she had him trapped in the elevator once more.

"I had a choice?" Peter asked, surprised.

"You did not," FRIDAY confirmed. "But it's good to have at least one person we don't pay who listens to me the first time."

"So that … was to make sure Tony ate something, huh?"

"You're a positive influence."

"And you want me to keep being a positive influence?"

"You learn fast. This is your stop. Have a good night, Peter."

There were probably weirder ways to gain your fake intended's electronic daughter's approval. Peter took the win and the opportunity to escape onto the ground floor.

—

It was odd being back at school, doing school things, when he had participated in something huge, when he'd gotten to be part of _the Avengers_ and talk to Tony Stark and was going out to fight crime on the regular. How was Peter supposed to go back to chemistry class and shop when he'd fought Captain America and seen Tony days later in a hospital bed because Peter had failed? How was he supposed to concentrate on _Great Expectations_ when his not being out there, doing his part, was why good people were hurt? It only made sense to drop band practice and to stop robotics, too.

"No," FRIDAY said patiently, having called him and apparently just as much of a busybody as Tony had complained about. "That does not make sense and is not sensible. Band was one thing, but if you don't un-quit robotics, I'm going to tell the boss you're working too hard and are going to burn out before you turn sixteen."

"But you hate worrying Tony."

"Yes. Don't make me do it." _Or worse will follow_ wasn't explicitly stated, but Peter heard the sentiment loud and clear.

Peter wasn't happy, but he swallowed his pride and asked if it was too late to come back. The faculty advisor's bemusement was tempered by Ned's sheer joy in getting to continue sharing extracurriculars.

"You're not too busy, after all?" Ned asked.

Peter unslung his backpack and pulled up a stool beside him. "I guess not."

—

Time was weird. It went really fast and it went really slow. Every moment in class or at decathlon practice took an age, but it seemed like whenever he was seated back at the kitchen table with take-out and Tony Stark in front of him, it passed in the blink of an eye.

"There's a competition coming up for your robotics club, right?" Tony asked. "Do you need materials or help with anything?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't need you to win any contests for me. Even if I were competing—and I'm not—I don't need you buying my way to victory."

"Hey, I'll have you know that anything you won would be on your own merits." Tony made a gesture, and Peter passed him the rolls. "So why not?"

"You already do enough. More than enough."

"I appreciate that, but I meant why aren't you participating?"

Shoving a forkful of fettuccine in his mouth so he wouldn't have to reply immediately, Peter desperately tried to think of an answer that wasn't, "With all my extra patrolling, I don't have the time."

Peter couldn't think of one. Tony was exactly as pleased with it as FRIDAY had been.

So it turned out Peter was going to participate in that, too. At least he kept Tony from doing more than subtly encouraging him to build his own rudimentary AI and workshop helper.

"I'm not saying the world needs another Dum-E or U," Tony said, "I'm just saying they're really useful when you've set the workshop on fire or need to be taken down a peg or three by being randomly sprayed in the face with a fire extinguisher. Just something to keep in mind. No matter what you decide, I support you. Unless it's to patrol more than three hours on a school night ever again, in which case I emphasize once more that I will not hesitate to send an Iron Man suit after you to escort you home. No more spending more time superheroing than you devote to homework."

—

Ned found out about the Spider-Man thing. Tony found out that Ned had found out immediately after that, mostly because Peter blurted it out in a panic at their next family dinner. He was reasonably certain FRIDAY already knew, because FRIDAY really did know everything.

"You'll tell your friend, but not your Aunt May?" Tony asked.

"It was an accident," Peter protested. "I didn't actually tell Ned so much as I literally crawled in my own window and found him waiting with a Lego model of the Death Star on my bed."

"Interesting seduction technique."

"It's not—I'd promised I'd help him finish it. He came over without calling first. It's not—" Peter stuttered. " _We're_ not—"

"Relax. No judgment. I enjoyed the occasional Lego model at your age, though it didn't hit me the same way as some good old-fashioned robotics."

"Is this," Peter asked, feeling something inside him try to shrivel up and die, "going to be one of those tortured sex talk metaphors?"

Tony laughed. "No metaphors here. I'm pretty sure the more sordid documentation of my teenage years and 20s escapades is even more easily available now than it was at the time, with everything out there on the internet, and even back then it was obvious that I _really_ wouldn't judge you for who you took to bed. No. I'm telling you that I really won't judge you for taking the time to be a kid and play with Lego pieces for a while."

"It was a _model_ ," got caught up with, "Are you sure that it's not a metaphor?" and what came out instead was a soft, "Did someone judge you?"

Tony's eyes went shadowed. His smile was insincere. "I lived my life in the spotlight. Of course they did."

—

Peter got into a fight with a bunch of would-be ATM robbers at a bank. He told Tony about it later that week. "So I said, 'Iron Man, it looks like you've gotten taller.'"

"Can you even tell from down there?" Tony asked. "I'm sure we're all giants from your perspective."

"You're like three inches taller than I am!"

"What's that? I'm sorry, I can't hear you from all the way up here."

They'd had some really weird weapons. Tony wasn't any happier to hear about that than that his counterpart would've towered over him.

—

Peter probably should've stayed out of it.

Peter didn't stay out of it.

—

First, Peter got dropped in a river when he should've been at a party. Then, he was involved in trying and failing to stop a heist, followed by an explosion during the fieldtrip portion of the decathlon team's trip to D.C. Finally, he ended up helping sink a ferry.

Tony was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

"By all rights, I should take that suit back," Tony said. He looked like he was seriously considering it. "FRIDAY, tell Karen Peter's grounded."

"Grounded? What does that mean?" Peter asked.

"It means you're grounded. No more fancy heroics. The suit's going to be a very expensive set of pajamas for the next three weeks. Or maybe until you're thirty. I'll let you know when I decide. In the meantime, no more family dinners. I'm too angry to talk to you right now and I don't want to say anything I'll regret."

"But—"

" _No_ , kid."

Tony took off. Peter was left with a bunch of regrets of his own.

—

The one good thing Peter had going for him was that Liz agreed to be his Homecoming date.

He messed that up, too.

Or maybe the universe messed it up for him.

Happy had hung up on him. Tony was too busy to talk to him, even if he'd been willing to answer Peter's calls right now. Liz's dad was a supervillain, and no one else knew.

Peter knew he was on thin ice with Tony, had probably ruined things completely at and after the disaster at the ferry. He should be keeping his head down, trying to build back up Tony's faith in him one lost dog at a time. Liz was waiting, resplendent in her red dress in the center of the gym's dance floor.

Hands shaking and feeling like he was going to throw up, Peter gave his apologies and walked back out the gym doors.

—

"Peter?" Ned asked as Peter stood outside the building Liz's dad was in, ready to leave both the phone and Flash's dad's car behind. "It, uh, it says Tony Stark is calling. What do I do?"

Peter couldn't wait, didn't think he had the time. "Uh. Answer it. Tell him everything."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Sorry, Ned, but I've gotta go."

—

He ended up under the building.

—

He lost the mask, but he got himself out.

Eventually.

—

(Peter didn't even consider that it had been recording and transmitting until Tony's shaking arms were wrapped tight around him, but that came later.)

—

Next, he got in a plane crash. That wasn't so fun, either. He was trying to push himself up, prepared to go toe to toe with Toomes, when an Iron Man suit came rocketing out of the night and crashed into Toomes's side.

Tony took out the wings, but he kept going, not even using his repulsors. He punched Toomes in the face again and then again and then again. Peter got up and wobbled his way over, trying to pull Tony off Toomes and only succeeding in tipping them all over into a pile.

"That's enough," Peter said, not for the first time, and Tony finally seemed to hear him. He dropped Toomes and grabbed Peter instead, faceplate drawing back as Tony buried his face in Peter's sweaty, dirt-streaked hair, uncaring of the concrete dust or the barely clotted blood.

"You were supposed to be grounded," Tony said.

"Yeah," Peter said.

"You are in so much trouble."

"Yeah," Peter said.

"I was so worrie—do you have a concussion? You look like you might have a concussion."

"Yeah," Peter said, nodding along this whole time, world tipping every which way.

Peter got to go to a private clinic. Toomes got to go to jail.

—

Tony retrieved the mask at some point. When he gave it back, he said, "That's temporary."

"Then why would you give it back to me?" Peter asked.

Tony sighed. "I didn't mean—I'm making you a new one. A better one. Something a little stronger than pajamas the next time you get yourself locked out of its systems."

Peter wasn't sure how he felt that Tony was making him a new suit while still expecting Peter to screw up hard enough that he'd need it taken away.

"Come on, don't pout. It's yours. You get to keep it. Just." Tony ran a shaky hand over his face. "Don't get trapped under any more buildings. For me. Please."

"I'll try my best," Peter promised.

Tony didn't look too happy with that, but he gave Peter back full access to the suit. He'd even replaced the lenses on the mask and washed the blood out.

—

The Spider-Man thing came out, the way Tony always said it would. In this case, because Peter de-masked in his room without locking or even latching the door.

In between the crying, the recriminations, the grounding, and the crying again ("I saw a clip of Spider-Man throw himself off a building. I saw a clip of _you_ throw yourself off a building," Aunt May said, clutching him tight to her; Aunt May was not a fan of the whole D.C. thing), almost everything came out. The fights that were with criminals, not bullies, who had left their marks. The bite mark from the spider and Peter's subsequent mutations. The way he blamed himself for not saving Uncle Ben.

"Does Tony know?" May asked. "No, wait, of course he knows. That's what—that's why he was angry with you? That's what you were fighting about?"

"Sort of? But not—" Peter drifted off. He didn't want to implicate Tony in his decision to hide everything from May.

May laughed suddenly. "I always wondered why he chose you, a fifteen year old—"

"I'm sixteen now," Peter mumbled, and May ignored him.

"—even if he thought you were a college student at the time, but it wasn't about your grades or your essay or whatever else was in your application, was it? He chose you because you were Spider-Man and somehow he knew."

This was both correct and really, really far off course. Peter wasn't sure what to say to reel it back in. May's arms tightened around him, a quick squeeze, before she let him go again.

"You know you don't have to stay with him because you're concerned about, about risks to a bondmate thanks to your alter ego, right? Even leaving aside that you have the rest of your life to find someone, to choose. Tony may have made the decision to reveal himself as Iron Man, but you, you're still just Peter Parker." May smoothed a hand through his hair. "You can still be just Peter Parker."

"Aunt May—" Peter took a hesitant step back. He shook his head as he straightened his shoulders. "I'm not just Peter Parker. I am Spider-Man, and suit or no suit, patrols or not, whether I'm grounded until I'm thirty-five," a threat May had made with intense sincerity, "or you let me out tomorrow, I can't change who I am. Who I want to be."

"And Tony approves of this?"

Peter laughed. "I think Tony would prefer to wrap me up in cotton batting at least half the time." Of course, the other half, he was letting Peter do things that caused the wrap-him-in-cotton reaction. "If I wanted to retire tomorrow, he just might throw a party. Besides," Peter lifted his chin, "Mr. Stark might have that contract, but he doesn't _own_ me."

"Well. There are worse ways for you to realize that." May's eyes were bright. Her lips were pursed. "If you're going to do this, we are definitely going to have a talk about rules and boundaries."

Peter couldn't help the little jump. "Really?"

"Really." May drew him into another hug. "Though you just may cause me to go grey early."

Peter squeezed gently back, carefully regulating his excitement and his strength. "You won't regret this."

Maybe May and Tony were talking a little too often, because he heard a little of Tony in her voice when she said, "I already do."

Somehow, in the course of the conversation, the fact that the contract wasn't really—or at least, had never been meant to serve as—anything more than a smokescreen never quite came up.

—

Life continued on until it didn't.

Really, it was better not to dwell on the whole Thanos thing, the Soul Stone, the way he'd been trapped, packed in tight in its bindings and unseeing of anything but a mesmerizing orange glow. Better not to remember the sickening feeling of his flesh sloughing away to turn into to dust. Better not to remember the anguish on Tony's face as he'd clutched Peter close, refusing to the end to let go.

Better to pretend it had never happened at all.

—

(When Peter slept, his dreams were tinged with orange, like looking through a colored lens. Peter didn't sleep much anymore.)

—

The thing is, Peter and Tony had never really talked about it. The sex thing. Not like, _sex-_ sex, though they hadn't talked about that, either, but rather, their biological make-up.  It hadn't mattered. It was a contract that was worth as much as the paper it was printed on, a convenient fiction that Tony was using to try to force Peter to accept a college fund.  

("Technically," Tony had said when Peter had gotten particularly insistent in not accepting Tony's charity, "it's not charity, and you don't have a choice at all.  Your Aunt May and I hashed that out when you were a wee spiderling who hadn't figured out how to be a pain in my ass yet.")

They hadn't talked about it, but—

Look, Peter was seventeen and he'd had a crush on Tony Stark the celebrity since he was seven and at least a little one on Tony Stark the person since he was fifteen, maybe sixteen.  He'd only grown into it as he'd aged. And the truth was, Peter was still a teenager. What teenager didn't dream of the fairytale romance, an alpha, an omega, and the strongest bond a pair could make?  Everyone had expected—Peter had hoped—that at some point in puberty ravaging his body, he would present as an omega.

He'd started off short, one of the smallest in his grade.  As far as anyone in the public knew, he kept to himself, didn't start any fights, and let aggression roll off his back.  Even Flash Thompson hadn't goaded him to raise his voice in years. If Peter wasn't an omega, then he was one of the rare, the few, a remarkably even-keeled beta so perfectly balanced that he wouldn't tip one way or the other.

Except that was a lie, Peter reflected miserably, staring at his body in the mirror and wondering if this was something to blame on the spider's bite or if it was just plain old Peter Parker, his destiny all along.  Peter didn't get in any fights at school and he tried not to start anything he couldn't finish, but the truth of the matter was that every weekend and most weeknights, Peter went out on the streets to punch criminals in the face.  That was probably a sign.

Definitely a sign were things like the bonding gland on his shoulder being drawn a little too far in, spaced a little too close to his neck, things like the fact he'd sprung up another six inches that year, things like the highly unfortunate knot he'd woken up with that morning attached to and part of his penis, rather than the slick and the slit opening he'd expected to face for years.  Peter gave himself a full fifteen minutes to scream silently at the drawn face in the mirror before he put his pants back on and made himself tell Aunt May that he needed to call off school for his first rut.

—

Even with—even with being an alpha, there was a part of Peter, some stupid, soppy romantic part, that thought that maybe Tony might show up to his bedside to—what—hold his hand?  It was a ridiculous thought. It was a ridiculous fantasy. Tony might have dated Pepper Potts for years, but everyone knew the two alphas thing was why they hadn't worked out.

It was—it was _so stupid_.

Even if Tony weren't busy, even if he'd wanted to come, no one wanted to add more pheromones into the mix of someone's first rut. Tony might be on such cutting edge suppressants that Peter had never caught a trace of his natural scent in all the years they'd known one another, but Tony was—reasonable, said the part of Peter's brain that yet knew reason itself— _paranoid_ , a more spiteful part chimed in. Tony would never risk it.

It was why it was such a surprise when Peter caught a glimpse a familiar arc reactor blue glowing through his window. It disappeared, only for there to be a loud, hollow thudding at the front door a few minutes later. Peter sat in bed, disbelieving, as he heard a familiar voice with a slight electronic edge say, "Sorry I'm late. You would not _believe_ traffic."

"You flew straight from the office," May said.

"I flew straight from the office. Is he accepting visitors?"

"Yes." Peter wrenched open the door, barely remembering to moderate his strength in his haste. The door … would probably be fine. Its hinges shrieked a little as Peter tried move it to its normal position open against the wall. It was difficult to divine Tony's expression through his closed faceplate—that was rather the point—but May winced delicately. "Hi, Mr.—ah, hi, Tony. Yes. Please. I'm accepting visitors."

Peter hadn't slipped on Tony's name in months, but he was flustered and he was frustrated with his own body. He was flushed bright red all over. It was disconcerting, too, to be face to helmet with Tony in the suit and realize that at his current rate of growth—or even if the growth spurt tapered off soon—from this point on, Peter would be looking down into the mask. That at some unknown point, he'd already gained inches on Tony out of it.

As if confronted with the same realization, Tony said, "Shit, kid, when'd you get so tall? I don't think this is allowed. This definitely shouldn't be allowed."

"I'll try to overcome biology and halt my growth for you," Peter said.

"Good. It's only the courteous thing to do. You make a man feel short." Despite his words, Tony bulled his way into the room.

With Tony's mask down, Peter couldn't smell even the faint, sexless scent Tony put off under the suppressants. Peter couldn't tell if this was for the better or the worse. His fingers itched to prise off the helmet, and instead he busied himself with straightening the sheets and making his room presentable.

"May was going to run a few errands," Tony said, voice faux-casual, as he stood in the doorway. "Thought I'd keep you company for a bit if you wanted it."

It was covered in metal, but Peter found himself reaching for Tony's right hand. He slid his fingertips along each join in the index finger of the gauntlet. Quietly, calmer, Peter said, "Yes. Please."

Peter sat on the bed. Tony stood, because the furniture had not been designed with an Iron Man suit in mind. Despite the fact Tony surely had better things to do, better places to be, he stuck with Peter, keeping him company while Peter held the gauntlet covering Tony's hand. At first, Peter chattered to fill the silence, filling Tony in on everything at school, expanding on his reports from his patrols, babbling about the new formula he was experimenting with for his webbing. Eventually, the discomfort grew, and Peter ran out of things to say.

Tony made encouraging noises about school and complimentary ones about the dog-catching story. He asked several pertinent questions about the webbing, but he didn't try to take over, just let Peter talk his way through a minor snag he'd been having. He didn't say anything at all about the way Peter was hunched over himself, half-hard, or the way Peter clung to his hand at times. He was—he was ridiculously perfect, protective and caring.

Peter couldn't help blurting out into the silence, "I was supposed to be an omega."

"Supposed to?" Tony asked, no judgment in his voice.

"I was—it was what I was expecting for years. It wasn't, it wasn't supposed to be like this." Peter's throat ached. His eyes burned. He blinked back tears, but he didn't cry. "Everyone knew I'd be an omega. I don't, I don't know how to be an alpha. I don't _want_ to be an alpha."

"Because it's unexpected or because it's just that terrible?" Tony asked.

It occurred to Peter that he was complaining about being an alpha to someone who was probably the quintessential alpha, powerful, in control, a take-charge go-getter who went out to fight bad guys in a literal suit of armor. "I. I don't know."

"It's not a decision to be taken lightly, but there are treatments," Tony said slowly, "to push you back into a beta's body. Not a decision you can make in the middle of a heat or rut, but they're there and they're getting better all the time."

Peter shook his head. "But that won't make me an omega."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Leaving aside the fluids, the physical discomfort, and the fact that any asshole still living in the Dark Ages sees you as a broodmare at best and prey at worst, suppressants only work so well. You have to go off them every five years, which may not seem like a lot at your age, but trust me, it gets old."

"What?" Peter asked faintly.

Peter couldn't see Tony's face, but he could watch the armor as Tony shook his head. "I know. That doesn't help to hear. You're still stuck in the wrong body, and unfortunately, there's not a good, quick fix. Believe me, I have tried."

"I thought you were focused on energy and robotics."

"Stark Industries has a sideline in biotech. We make some of the best suppressants in the world. _The_ best, really." Tony squeezed Peter's hand gently with his mechanical one. "I'll see you get some after this, but they're less effective if they're taken when a heat or rut first starts, and doctors claim you should really ride out your first one."

"Thank you." Peter tried to smile. "But do you know what the worst part is?"

"Tell me."

Peter choked out a sound that might have been a laugh. "It doesn't feel wrong. Even though I was supposed to—it feels _right_ , like this is how I should've been all along."

"There's no supposed to in this, kid. What matters is what you think." Tony squeezed Peter's hand again. "Though I've gotta tell you, I'm glad to hear this works for you, even if it's not what you expected."

"What did, how did you and Pepper do the two alphas thing?" Peter asked before he could think better of it.

"We didn't."

"Oh." Peter supposed it was a dumb question. Tony and Pepper had been broken up for years now. But. "Do you think I would be able to?"

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to," Tony said with quiet confidence.

Peter swallowed heavily. He wanted to believe it. He just wasn't sure it was true.

—

"Alpha, huh?" Ned said when Peter was back in school.

"Yep."

"How's that work, with the whole—?" Ned made a gesture.

"It doesn't."

MJ rolled her eyes. "It can. Don't let match snobs keep you from following your dreams. If he didn't want you anymore, he'd have broken the contract, right?"

Peter really needed to figure out a way to tell MJ that was fake without outing himself as Spider-Man. To his surprise, Ned agreed with her. "There were never any guarantees how you were going to present, and he made it work with Pepper for years. You can't give up now." Peter glared at Ned, who _knew it wasn't real_. Ned stared right back. "But that's just my opinion." He stabbed his fork in the mystery meatloaf. "What do I know about making a same orientation relationship work?"

"This is just an excuse to brag about your cute omega girlfriend again," MJ said.

"Do I need an excuse? She is as cute and as sweet as the day months ago now when she first agreed to date me." Ned had a romance with a girl from their rival school. Peter didn't know if they were going to last past graduation, but he wasn't going to rain on Ned's parade, and they were very cute. Ned pointed his meat-laden fork at Peter. "Don't give up hope."

There was no giving up hope if you didn't have hope in the first place. Peter tried to explain this to Ned later, when they were alone.

Ned snorted. "Dude. I've seen your contract. The only reason you're not already married is you're in high school, and Mr. Stark's not quite that tacky."

"For the last time, _it's fake_. It was just so Aunt May wouldn't find out and as an excuse to fund my college education."

"Then why do you still have it? You'd get to keep the money either way."

Peter didn't have an answer for him.

—

Tony was late to the family dinner, and FRIDAY directed Peter to the workshop. She told him, "He skipped lunch, too."

Peter found Tony poking a hologram of an unknown chemical formula. Tony looked up, and his eyes sharpened. "It's not that late, is it?"

"This is why you need windows," Peter said, smiling.

"I have artificial ones. There's a whole range of displays. FRIDAY, show him. Pull up New York, Stark Tower." The white walls washed away under the lights of a nighttime cityscape.

"It doesn't help if you turn them off." Peter drew closer. "What's that?"

"Just a little tinkering." Tony dismissed the holo with a careless wave of his hand. "Did you get the suppressants I sent you?"

"I did." Peter tugged at Tony's wrist. "What I didn't do is eat, though, and I'm really hungry. Come on. Your lab will still be here tomorrow."

With FRIDAY distracting him, Peter snuck a couple extra servings onto Tony's plate. They talked, as always, about everything and nothing, the random everyday things going in Peter's life, some of Tony's recent projects that weren't classified, an interesting article Peter had seen, the latest Spider-Man video clip that had gone viral. Occasionally FRIDAY interjected corrections, suggestions, and additional information. It was nice. This whole dynamic was nice.

Even if Peter weren't seventeen, even if he weren't a high school senior, he wouldn't want to do anything to change it, to jeopardize it. Peter wanted to keep Thursday night family dinners going for as long as he could. He'd happily keep them for the rest of his life.

—

Peter graduated with honors. On the day of the graduation ceremony, Peter hadn't expected it, but when he looked up at Aunt May during the principal's commencement speech, Tony was sitting right there beside her in sunglasses and a nice suit.

"Dude, is that Tony Stark?" whispered Ha-eun Park beside him.

"Holy shit, he just winked at me," said Trevor Parking from Peter's other side.

Peter slouched in his seat, embarrassed and pleased.

Afterward, Tony took Peter and May out for dinner.

"To Columbia," May said, toasting Peter with a glass of red wine.

"You could have gone to MIT," Tony said, then jolted. Peter was pretty sure May had kicked him under the table. "But we're very happy for you." He picked up his own wine glass and said, voice gone low, smile creasing his face, "I'm so proud of you, kid."

—

Things changed, and they stayed the same. Summer passed too quickly. College classes were harder and easier than high school, a lot more left to Peter and a lot less in the way of busywork. Peter kept doing the Spider-Man thing. He still saw Ned, but it was all online now. Every Thursday evening, he had dinner with Tony.

Dinner with Tony was the same, the one constant—until it wasn't.

—

FRIDAY directed him to collect Tony from the workshop, where Tony was caught up in some delicate work making adjustments to a set of communicators he was making. Identicards, he called them, and they looked flimsy and easily shattered, but bent instead of broke. Tony flicked one, and the image on it dispersed, leaving behind the illusion of clear plastic. He sat back, balancing his chair on its back two legs.

Peter had ghosted up behind Tony, not even realizing how quiet he'd been until he said, "That's so cool," and Tony jerked, chair falling backward. Peter caught it.

Tony's eyes were wide, head tilted back to observe Peter, then narrowed. "We need to put a bell on you."

"Isn't that what FRIDAY's for?" Peter asked.

"Good point." Tony pointed a finger dramatically at the wall, where one of the cameras was hidden. "FRIDAY, why didn't you warn me?"

"I tried. You ignored it along with every reminder that dinner was soon."

Peter set Tony's chair back on all four legs. Tony bounced to his feet.

"No excuses. You get a kick out of seeing Itsy Bitsy here startle me."

"I'm sure I couldn't say," FRIDAY demurred.

Tony put a hand to Peter's back. "Come on, let me show you something before we eat." Tony led them further down the bench, and his hand came up to the back of Peter's neck, squeezing once and letting go. "Take a look at that."

"I don't see anything," Peter said.

"Exactly." Tony waved his hand through the air just above the bench. He frowned. He moved his hand over a wider area. "Okay, FRIDAY, what gives?"

"You told Dum-E and U they could help wrap Mr. Parker's gifts for his birthday last month. They took it as a general command."

"Yeah, but this gift isn't ready yet." Tony sighed. "FRIDAY, where's the cloak?"

"You didn't have to get me anything," Peter said.

"And I didn't. What part of not ready yet is everyone having so much trouble understanding?"

Eventually, Tony found what he was looking for hidden behind Dum-E's charging station. "It's a conspiracy. A conspiracy of bots, interfering in my grand reveal." Tony shoved a poorly wrapped cardboard box at Peter. It had a lopsided ribbon tying it together left of center. "That may be wrapped, but it's still not a gift. It's a prototype and it has a bunch of kinks left to iron out."

It was an empty box. Peter felt around inside. There was something that felt like fabric. When he tried to pick it up, it shimmered.

Oh. Oh, wow. "Did you make me an invisibility cloak?"

"I didn't not make you an invisibility cloak," Tony said. "But please. Let's not call it that."

Peter draped it around his shoulders. He was awash in rainbows and pixels for a moment, then his body disappeared. "This is _so cool_."

Tony rocked back on his heels. He looked smug. "Not that you need the help being stealthy."

Peter threw his arms around Tony, something he'd done a number of times over the years, including last month when Tony had showed up for his birthday with a small mountain of half-wrapped presents. Tony maybe wasn't expecting the sudden manhandling, because his chin ended up mashed partly into Peter's shoulder and his nose digging into the side of Peter's neck. Peter felt the same usual thrill at having Tony so close, plus an additional one at his mouth being positioned where he could place a bonding bite, but it was second nature at this point to push those thoughts aside. Peter released Tony to do a twirl.

"How do I look?"

Tony's face was red, and Peter reminded himself to be more careful pulling Tony in next time. He mostly had a handle on his strength, but sometimes he had lapses when he got overexcited.

Tony wet his lips. "Great. You look great."

Peter looked down, because wasn't the point supposed to be that they _couldn't_ see him? He was all shimmering, pixelated rainbows again. Peter grinned and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I look ridiculous. It needs more testing, right?"

Tony put his hands in his pockets. "I—" He paused. "I definitely need more time to think it over."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." Peter took off the cloak and put it on the workbench for Tony to pick back up when he wanted it. "But, really, thank you. For giving me the chance to try it out."

"Sure," Tony said. His eyes had gone distant. Peter thought that maybe Tony was already turning the problem over in his head.

Peter tugged Tony toward the elevator. "Engineering problems later. Food now."

"Why not both?" Tony said, but he let himself be pulled along.

They ate dinner. They talked. Everything was very normal. But later that night, FRIDAY called to let Peter know Tony would have to cancel next week.

Not counting when Peter was grounded early on, Tony had canceled on Peter a total of three times. Even during the Thanos debacle, it could be argued that Peter was the one who'd stood Tony up. Of those three times, two were due to global catastrophes—or at least attempts at causing one—and the last was when Tony had a heart attack from damage accrued over the years and which had finally driven him to give Extremis a chance. Even that third one, Tony technically didn't cancel; FRIDAY was the one who called Peter to say she was attempting to send Tony to the hospital, and could Peter please come early to make sure he actually went?

He'd certainly never canceled a full week in advance.

"Did he say why?" Peter asked.

"He was adamant that he needed time to figure things out," FRIDAY said.

"Just because I saw the prototype doesn't mean he needs to make it work. I can wait."

FRIDAY's pause didn't feel entirely artificial. "I believe deciding if he wants it to is his current top priority."

Peter huffed a breath. Tony did get absorbed in his projects. "Make sure he eats?"

FRIDAY agreed that she would continue to do her best.

—

Tony canceled the next week, too. And then the week after that.

Peter showed up for that week's family dinner anyway, after a brief stop by Queens to pick up some things.

He had cold sandwiches from Mr. Delmar's new place instead of warm takeout, but he figured if Tony was still this deep in an engineering fugue, he wasn't going to be picky. Besides, they were good sandwiches. He'd picked up turkey, ham, and thin sliced salami. Whatever Tony didn't want, Peter would be happy to eat. Peter's plan was to unwrap them and place them within reach, then let nature take its course. He'd gotten any number of veggies into Tony by similar means. Once, Tony had made it halfway through a container of raw broccoli before realizing that food had appeared as if by magic.

Except when Peter wandered into the workshop, Tony wasn't working. Peter didn't even spot him at first. There was a cot in the corner, more of a padded bench, and Tony was curled up on it. Peter retreated as quietly as he'd arrived.

"Has he been asleep long?" Peter asked FRIDAY.

"Boss finally drifted into REM sleep three hours ago."

"When's the last time he slept before that?" Peter asked.

"Sixty-seven hours."

"Right." Peter was definitely not going to insist on dinner. "Where does he keep the spare blankets?"

Peter ghosted back in to tuck Tony in. He placed the sandwich bag on the workbench where Tony could find it. He took the turkey with him, but left everything else.

—

Tony called later that night. Peter was sitting on a fire escape and considering turning in for the night. Tony's image appeared when Peter told Karen to accept the call. Tony looked tired. Nine hours of sleep hadn't been enough to wipe the slate clean. He had on rose-tinted sunglasses, but Peter could see the bags under his eyes.

"Hey, Pete. Sorry I missed dinner."

"You were busy," Peter said.

"No excuses. I should have—wait, are you in the suit?" Tony's eyes narrowed. "Thursday nights are supposed to be patrol-free."

"I had some extra time," Peter said. "I promise I'm not going to burn out."

"FRIDAY, did you know about this?" Tony demanded like he hadn't heard Peter at all. He didn't look happy at whatever answer he received, the close fit of the earpiece only letting Peter hear the barest murmur of FRIDAY's voice. "Right, no, this is unacceptable. I miss a couple weeks, and suddenly you decide to work yourself to death?"

"I'm about to go to bed. I'm fine."

"It's midnight!"

"Exactly. Plenty of time to get some shut-eye before my morning classes."

"I am never canceling dinner again."

Honestly? Peter was perfectly happy with that outcome.

—

Things went back to normal for awhile. Tony unveiled the finished invisibility cloak—"Still not calling it that, but it's yours now"—and went back to fiddling with the identicards. He was better at being ready for dinner when Peter showed up, sometimes already sitting at the kitchen table when Peter arrived, portioning out that week's meal.

It was the beginning of winter break and they were having Chinese when Tony cleared his throat and said, "So there's something I need to talk to you about."

"I'm not transferring to MIT." Peter snuck more of the broccoli from the beef and broccoli onto Tony's plate.

"I gave up on that after your high school graduation," Tony said, which was a blatant lie, because that entire summer, Tony had snuck brochures in through Peter's bedroom window by drone every time he'd left it open. He'd even built some with little robot arms to open the window themselves. "This is a completely different awkward subject you'd probably be happier avoiding."

"If this is about my patrolling hours, I would like to point out that classes are out and I'm balancing it with plenty of social and lab time. Karen will back me up on this."

"Okay, we'll discuss that next, because that was entirely too rehearsed to bode well." Tony pointed at Peter with his chopsticks. "I mean it. You don't get to use me as a role model for work-life balance."

"If it's not about MIT and FRIDAY wasn't informing on me, then what did you want to talk about?" Peter asked before snagging the last egg roll.

Tony picked up a tablet close at hand, tapped at the screen until it lit up, and handed it over to Peter. "Look that over for me."

"It's our bonding contract?" Peter hadn't thought about in a long time, hadn't been sure it was even still active. "But these look like notes for potential revisions. And … this is your side of it. I never got to see this before."

"Yep." Tony popped a piece of broccoli in his mouth. "Tell me what you think."

Peter ate as he scrolled through. "This looks really restrictive." Peter suddenly understood why Tony hadn't dated in years. "Really, really restrictive." He didn't understand why Tony had kept it, even with the fact that, "It looks like the only way you can break it is if I don't show up for—" Peter swallowed. "For your heat?"

"Mm." Tony leaned over and scrolled a bit more, then enlarged some fine print. "That's just the clause for no penalty dissolution. There are other options. I'd forfeit the dowry, though part of it is yours no matter what, like the portion earmarked for your education."

"Tony, this says you have a heat." Peter was stuck on that point.

"Coming up soon," Tony confirmed. "It's nearly been five years since my last one, and there's no putting it off for much longer than that. And omega rights have come too far for me to actually sleep with anyone I'm in such an old-fashioned contract with. Even if we were stuck in the Dark Ages, I don't hate myself that much. So. Contract revisions. What do you think?"

Peter was finding it difficult to switch gears, especially when hit with revelations like Tony was capable of heats, was going to have one soon, and that he wanted to spend it with _Peter_. Peter felt like he had rice stuck in his throat. "You want a real contract."

"Exclusive for both of us, no contract penalties either way, and we can cancel at any time. You'll pocket the original dowry, and there's no money involved in the new one unless you want to get married later down the line." Tony tapped at a paragraph. "If you do, then it would be a regular, modern marriage. You don't get any more control over my assets than you would have had if you'd presented as an omega after all." He pointed at the next paragraph down. "I'm open to attempting a more permanent bonding, but I'd rather discuss it first."

This was a _real contract_. "Where do I sign?"

"You know this is the negotiation phase, right? You're supposed to read it over, think it over, and get back to me."

"Never mind, found it." It required Peter's impression along with a digital signature, plus his initials for every revision. He approved all of the changes.

Tony stole the tablet out of Peter's hands before he could sign. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'd rather have your careful consideration."

"I've been considering this for three years." That was perhaps a bit too honest, because Tony winced. "Besides, I read fast." Peter tried to gently tug the tablet away from Tony. Tony held fast.

"Thinking it over was step two."

"I think fast, too." Peter tugged a little more firmly.

"Peter."

"Tony."

Tony's lips quirked up. He yielded the tablet. He went back to his beef and broccoli. "At least tell me if there's anything you want to add. Even once you sign, that's not set in stone."

Peter's eyes kept returning to a specific section. "I want to bite you."

Tony choked. Peter patted him on the back as Tony groped for his water glass. "Just straight for the permanent bond, huh?"

"I mean, it's not really permanent-permanent," Peter said. "If you change your mind, you could let it fade."

Tony's raised his eyebrows. "If _I_ change my mind, huh?"

"Yeah." Peter signed and handed the tablet back. "I've known what I've wanted since I was seventeen."

"That certainly puts waiting a couple months to be sure into perspective." Tony added his own signature and thumb print. He put the tablet on the table. "So with that out of the way, I have to ask."

Peter did his best to project, _Yes, please, take me on a test run before your actual heat_.

"How long exactly are you patrolling each night?"

Oh. Peter had hoped Tony would have forgotten about that. "A perfectly sensible number of hours."

"FRIDAY, ask Karen how long Peter's been suiting up every day."

Oh, boy.

—

Before Peter could leave, Tony put together the leftovers for him like normal, then shucked his blazer, draping it over a kitchen chair. He undid the top five buttons of his shirt and pulled the fabric to the side, exposing most of his right shoulder, along with his neck and the bonding gland. He tipped his head to the side.

Feeling honored, awed, Peter reached out and traced the raised skin. Tony shivered.

Tony's voice was rough. "Still want to bite, or would you rather stick to scent marking for now?"

Peter couldn't stop the sound of pure, helpless want he made at that. His fingers pressed down a little more firmly, and Tony closed his eyes. They hadn't even kissed, but yes, Peter still wanted to bite. He leaned down to replace his fingers with his tongue, tasting Tony, the salt of his skin and the faintest traces of soap. Tony buried his hands in Peter's hair.

"Kid, you're killing me here."

Peter sucked a mark in, and at the first hint of suction, Tony clenched his hands in Peter's hair. Peter had to grab Tony's hips to steady him, because the rest of him went limp, dead weight in Peter's arms. Tony whimpered, then whined when Peter stopped.

"Was that a compromise or foreplay?" Tony asked.

"Can I—?"

"This is my emphatic and enthusiastic consent: yes. Whatever you want." Tony smoothed down Peter's hair. "And if what you want is to wait, we can do that, too."

"I don't want to go home tonight," Peter said.

"Then stay."

"Really?"

Tony's smile was heartbreakingly sincere. "Really."

So Peter did.

—

In the morning, Peter woke up in Tony's bed, Tony's hair tickling the underside of his chin. Peter slid his hand down the length of Tony's bare back.

"Mornin', morning glory," Tony mumbled against the hollow where Peter's collarbones met. He pressed a kiss there.

"Morning glory?" Peter asked, voice rough with sleep.

"Not my best work, admittedly, but it's early, and I haven't had my coffee yet." Tony sat up and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He blinked a couple times, then refocused, staring down at Peter. "Huh."

"Hm?" Peter stretched, and Tony's gaze dipped down to Peter's chest and stomach, then came back up to meet Peter's own.

"Nothing, it's just—this is nice." Tony dropped a kiss on Peter's chin. "You should always be in my bed in the morning." He dropped another one against the corner of Peter's mouth. "Nights, too." Peter threaded a hand through Tony's hair. "All the time. You should always be in my bed."

"That would make it hard to go to class."

"And I'd find it impossible to get any work done if I knew you were up here waiting for me." Tony pressed another kiss to Peter's mouth. "Guess I'll have to settle for the nights and mornings, if you're amenable."

"Are you seriously asking me to move in with you after one night together?" Peter asked, but it wasn't a no.

"More—offering. Whenever you'd like." Tony made a gesture at the bite mark on his neck. "You've already made a claim on my body. You can make another on my bed." Tony's smile was lopsided. "It wouldn't even look that weird. As far as everyone else is concerned, this has always been the endgame."

"Let me think about it," Peter said.

—

It wasn't that Peter moved in right away. It was more that he just stopped spending the night at the dorms and maybe left some clothes and an extra toothbrush at Tony's. Peter put in for a brief medical leave for the projected date of Tony's heat, and it was a shame to miss classes, but absolutely worth every second spent with Tony instead.

Despite the new contract and the permanent bond, several things stayed the same. They still had Thursday dinners. FRIDAY remained entirely too plugged into Peter's life. Peter went to classes, went on patrol, and did his homework. He spent time talking with Ned online and in person with a number of casual college friends and classmates. Sometimes he ran into Happy at the Tower, who always had an air of wondering what the hell Peter was doing there, though it was more resigned these days.

"It's not that I don't like you," Happy admitted during the tail end of the company Christmas party, when everyone except Peter was truly, exceptionally drunk. "It's that I think he can do better."

"Thanks," Peter said, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice, and Happy looked at him for a moment, nearly clear-eyed, as if he was really _seeing_ him.

"I think you can do better, too," Happy said, voice serious, almost sad. He finished his drink. "You can both do better."

"How does that even work?" Peter asked.

"It—oh, here, hold this for me, will you?" Happy shoved his empty glass into Peter's hands and lurched off toward the bathroom. A moment later, Peter could hear him being sick.

"It's not personal. Mr. Hogan is a romantic," FRIDAY said in Peter's earpiece. "He doesn't believe in bonding contracts or arranged marriages. Now, if you're done for the night," Peter was very done for the night, "Boss is one floor down and about to fall asleep on a coffee table."

Peter took the stairs. "All this time, and he never knew?"

"Peter. The only people who didn't think this was going to end in bonding were you and the boss."

Peter rubbed at the claim mark on his neck, smiling slightly. "I don't think Tony would've said yes to a real contract when we first met."

Peter followed FRIDAY's directions to find Tony sprawled out across a clear glass coffee table. It did not look the least bit comfortable, but Tony was snoring.

Peter shook his shoulder. "Tony. Wake up. Come to bed."

Tony smiled. He nearly rolled off the coffee table, and Peter caught him. "Mmm, why don't we sleep here tonight?"

"No." Peter hauled Tony upright. "Do you want me to carry you?"

Tony planted his face in Peter's neck. "Yes, please."

Peter took Tony to bed and tucked him in. He brushed his teeth, then followed him in. Tony curled into his side.

"I don't think I could do better," Peter whispered into Tony's hair. "I think I lucked into my best possible match."

Tony mumbled something sleepy, indistinct. Peter let his eyes drift closed. His dreams were pleasant, but as always, waking up in the morning with Tony in his arms was much better.

**Author's Note:**

> Content advisories: This is in an a/b/o dystopia, though it doesn't focus on all the awful aspects besides Peter getting into an arranged bonding contract during CW and pretty much everyone being varying levels of okay with it. There's the age gap. There's the arranged marriage/bonding contract despite Peter being a teenager and Tony being an adult. There's a lot of the attendant background "omegas can be treated in an awful way" worldbuilding, though it's not focused on. There's them meeting at their canon-ish ages for CW (Peter's birthday is v. slightly wrong/I had the wrong month for CW) and having a much closer relationship throughout, then going for a contract for real after Peter hits college. Despite how very messed up the background everything is, the fic itself is focused on the friendship and romance part. There's temporary character death (IW), canon-typical violence, and CW going much worse for Tony. I think that covers it, but I haven't done my usual warnings-focused re-read, so again: if you have any special concerns, please ask.


End file.
